


One For Tasting

by JamieBenn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Australia, M/M, Only if you squint - Freeform, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieBenn/pseuds/JamieBenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear Bucky,<br/>I hope you know that I have been lost without you. You are my best friend, and yet I'm absolutely sick of not being able to make you your favourite foods, and although I don't get sick at all, I miss you bringing me soup made out of whatever you could find cheap at the markets. I miss you, and you were my best friend. You still are my best friend, but you're gone. How could you do that to me, Buck? How could you leave me defenceless in a world full of the worst creatures? How could you leave me alone in a time that's not even ours?</p><p>AKA. Steve goes on a therapeutic holiday to South Australia and drinks lots of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One For Tasting

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to put a disclaimer here saying that drinking alcohol is not a way to deal with your problems, and I do not believe it is. This does not really have alcohol abuse in it, as Steve is in it for the flavours, and what not, but I thought I'd tag it anyway, to be safe.
> 
> Steve & Australia & Grieving = Whatever this story is. Enjoy.
> 
> ~Raleigh

**One For Tasting**

_Dear Bucky,_

_I hope you know that I have been lost without you. You are my best friend, and yet I'm absolutely sick of not being able to make you your favourite foods, and although I don't get sick at all, I miss you bringing me soup made out of whatever you could find cheap at the markets. I miss you, and you were my best friend. You still are my best friend, but you're gone. How could you do that to me, Buck? How could you leave me defenceless in a world full of the worst creatures? How could you leave me alone in a time that's not even ours?_

_You're my best friend, Buck, and I can't stand the thought that if I ever meet a woman, that I wont be able to have you by my side as best man._

_You're my best friend, Buck, and I can't stand the thought that you didn't even get a proper burial, because we couldn't find your body, and I couldn't stand saying goodbye to you._

_You're my best friend, Buck, but I don't know where you are, and I'm doubting everything that I've ever believed in. Does god really exist? Is your mind still out there somewhere? Buck, are you there? Can you hear me? Why am I praying to my dead best friend to still exist?_

_You're my best friend, Buck, but hell, do I miss you._

  
  


Steve looked at the selection in front of him. Bottles filled with different liquids ranging from the clearest golden solutions, to the darkest of reds. The labels all looked extremely decent and attractive. Steve couldn't wait to try them all.

  
  


When Steve lived in Brooklyn, back in the 1930s, way before the war had come about, and everything had gone down in the world, Steve wasn't allowed to drink. He was so skinny, so weak, that Bucky would never allow him to drink at all. Although, he had, on occasion, liked to sneak himself a nice glass of Shiraz from the Napa Valley, or from anywhere, really. Steve liked the stuff no matter where it came from.

  
  


Here he was, standing in South Australia, among people seventy years younger than himself, standing out in the crowd, with his clothes still stuck in the 40s, and his accent from miles away. In front of him was a selection of wines that were cheap, but they tasted like freedom. He could taste everything that he had fought for in the war. The world's freedom.

  
  


He had fought alongside many Australians during the war. They had been some of the nicest of men on their side. They had been some of the most 'swell' people. They had spoken of their homeland like it was the best place on earth. One of them had even been from Adelaide, and had given him descriptions of the vines down where he lived. It was one of the reasons why Steve chose South Australia to go to, and not some other place in Australia. He had used Google to search for the man, finding that he had founded a winery. The winery that he was standing in at that moment. Steve was happy that he could taste the product of a man's life.

  
  


'Paxton Wines' read all the bottles along the bench he was in front of. He smiled. They had Shiraz. Apparently, the area was renowned for its Shiraz grapes. He really appreciated that he could find all of that information on the internet.

  
  


The woman in front of him sported a crimson coloured smile, lips parting to make way for a toothy smile. “One for tasting?” she asked.

  
  


“Only the Shiraz, please.” He said, eagerly. He waited as she placed a glass in front of him. He could almost taste the wine in his mouth as she poured it. It had been so long since he had had a glass of Shiraz. Not since Tony had brought some to his room as a gift the second night after he had moved into the tower.

  
  


“Are you sure? Although the area is known for its Shiraz, we do have other nice wines.” She grinned, her teeth showing the same as they had before. “We usually start tasting here, at the 2011 Riesling.”

  
  


Steve wondered curiously. He had only planned on trying different Shiraz wines from different wineries, but she had asked so nicely, and he couldn't get drunk. “I'll taste whatever you think I should, then, ma'am.”

  
  


“Please, call me Jessica.” Her red-painted finger nails pushed her chocolate coloured hair behind her ear. Steve began to wonder if the woman was trying to flirt with him. She looked about forty, and his body was twenty-seven. He wasn't trying to be rude, but he knew that that was a little strange. His insides shuddered.

  
  


~*~

  
  


_ Mission Log: 27 _ _ th _ _ of May 2011 _

  
  


_Mission accomplished. Target code X0JK removed. Minimal – 2 – civilian casualties, as orders appropriated. Flight's estimated time of arrival 1400 hours tomorrow, American Airlines. Estimated arrive time in Sydney, Australia 0900 hours Australian Eastern Standard Time._

  
  


~*~

  
  


Steve loved the surroundings. In some ways, it reminded him of the places that he had fought at in the war. The more secluded surroundings. He liked that they weren't like the bustling New York City, but it did give him reminders of an era in which he wasn't totally sure that he wasn't to be reminded of.

  
  


He had found himself a bed and breakfast to stay at. He wasn't sure if he should be staying there. It seemed a little expensive, but if he was being totally honest with himself, he didn't totally understand the increase of money from the 40s to where he was living now. The Australian dollar seemed pretty much equal to the American one, but some things were much more expensive in Australia, and some things were cheaper, as well. Food was more expensive, but things like gas were a little cheaper.

  
  


Tony had gotten him a bike when he had asked him if he could go to Australia for a bit. Steve hadn't been expecting it, but when he had gotten off the plane at Melbourne airport, a man had been standing with a sign saying 'Cap,' which he had wandered to towards curiously. The man had told him the bike was courtesy of Mr. Stark, and that now he didn't have to catch the adjoining flight to Adelaide, because he could ride there. Steve had laughed. Tony knew him too well, Steve was beginning to worry that he should be a little creeped out by how much Tony knew about him.

  
  


There were definitely a lot of things nicer about the newer world, than the older one. GPS was much more handy than having to get out paper maps. In fact, you didn't even have to look at the GPS, because they would call out the directions to you. Certainly, Google was helpful as well. Then there was the rights, and the things that were right in the world that were certainly wrong before. He was happy that there were more women doing things. Like even women that were gaining powerful positions in government, and how the president was a black man! Steve hadn't believed it at first, but he had certainly been proud.

  
  


He knew that in the next week, he was going to be tasting a lot of wines, if only he found a nicer place to stay. He didn't particularly like the woman who organised the bed and breakfast that he was staying at, and he wasn't sure if she wanted him there for an entire week. He guessed that he would see what would come up.

  
  


~*~

  
  


He smiled, the sun was shining gloriously among the vineyards in the wine region. McLaren Vale was a place of pure heart, and Steve was amazed that a place like this could exist so far from America.

  
  


When he was a child, he had thought of Australia as such a backwards place. All he knew about the place was that they had kangaroos and lived in the worst conditions available, and he wondered if maybe back in his day, they did. However, now, he knew that this place was perhaps better than it was back then, and that now, with the internet, and phone lines, it could reach across the seas and get the mobile phones and computers that they had in America, and therefore, they could do things that anyone in America could do. Aside from the fact that lots of people in America have to drive hours to get to the beach, and almost all of the Australian population lives within half an hour of the place.

  
  


Steve's tires scraped against the bitumen roads. The roads were slightly bumpier, and he knew that there were probably going to be more unexpected dirt roads – like the one that lead up to the Paxton Winery – and that they would be dirty, and flick up towards his face without a care that he could be hurt by them. He was glad that he had purchased the riding goggles that he had been wearing at the time that a small pebble hit him right square in the eye. If not, he feels sure that it would have hit his eye, shortly blinding him, and possibly causing an accident. Even though he had the super serum, that wouldn't mean that he wouldn't be susceptible to pain.

  
  


There was a time that Steve had always thought about his old life. He had only been living in the twenty-first century for a few months, and already, he was thinking about forgetting everything about his whole life in an attempt to move on. His attempt was clearly failing, in that he was thinking about thinking about forgetting about his past, and in that case, he was clearly taking his mind off the fact that he was on a rather busy road on a motorcycle, and that he was veering off to the side because his mind was going back to its factory settings- American. Just because he was Captain America, didn't mean that he had to go and do everything in an American way. Including driving. He wasn't going to drive on the right hand side of the road in Australia, like an imbecile.

  
  


Eventually, he made it out of the road about. He had done three full turns, and wasn't quite sure whether or not he was going to actually get out of it. It wasn't like 'Captain America' to get panic attacks, but apparently thinking about your old life, which partially included you as half invalid, as well as your best-friend dying, incorporated with a strange road, and strange road rules, could make you realise that you weren't as an accomplished motorcycle rider as you had originally thought.

  
  


There had also been a time that Steve had thought that he was king of the world, and what not. Sure, he didn't like bullies, but it really hadn't stopped him from trying to king hit a bully. A bully was still a person, and although a bad person, Steve had often forgotten that in the line of duty. Sometimes, he didn't realise that the Nazis were just doing what their leaders told them. That they were not out of order, because they probably would have been killed if they did not serve as they had been told by their leaders. Steve often realised that a lot of the people he killed during the war were actually innocent, and maybe he shouldn't be all to happy to be called 'Captain America.'

  
  


His bike slowed to a halt outside the winery he had arrived out. Trees stood tall in their pots. Leaves looked as though they were about to full off, but he was confused because it wasn't even near fall in Australia. He knew that the seasons were back to front and all, but these trees just looked appallingly dead, and he wondered if people weren't quite taking care of the plants like they should be doing.

  
  


The wooden door in front of him was already open, and he stood before pictures that looked as they they could have been painted by some kind of goddess. The beauty behind them astounded him. One portrayed the shadow of a woman, naked, and flowing. The beautiful burgundy coloured liquid, clearly wine pouring on the black figurine, that was the beautiful woman.

  
  


Smiling, he quickly entered the adjoining room. Empty aside from one woman standing behind the long black counter. A picture of a wine bottle, side ways appeared on the front of the counter, depicted as one of their own labelled bottles, complete with their company's signature red dot.

  
  


“Hello! One for tasting?” The woman asked, excited. He realised, looking at the clock which read 9:15, that he was probably the first customer of the day, and this was probably one of the most excited times that he would ever see a cellar door person.

  
  


Once again eager for the perfect flavour of an Australian wine upon his tongue, he smiled and greeted her with his perfectly Brooklyn accented “Yes, please.”

  
  


Their range looked spread out, and he looked at the price of the most expensive wine there, and was instantly glad that Tony had given him 'spending money,' as he had called it. '2011 Footprint Shiraz $60' it read. Steve, being the Shiraz fiend that he was, knew that he would instantly want to buy a bottle of it. He grinned, waiting for the first Riesling to be poured.

  
  


The smooth liquid poured itself into all of the innards of Steve's mouth. It wasn't what his taste buds wanted. They wanted the deliciousness that would have been a perfectly rounded Shiraz. The Riesling in his hands was not it.

  
  


“How are you getting home?” The woman asked. Only then did Steve realise that he was neglecting the cellar door assistant. He wasn't sure what to tell the woman. Did be tell her that he was Captain America? He knew that people didn't recognise him without the mask, but surely this man would believe her. Did people even know that he had the super soldier serum? Would anyone believe him if he told them that he couldn't get drunk. People were gullible sometimes? He didn't know. It had him stumped.

  
  


“I have someone picking me up.” he settled on. His excuse needed to be something realistic, and that was what he had come up with. It was realistic enough, without being something that anyone would say. He wasn't going to say, 'I can hold my alcohol,' because that would just make him sound like a douche, and that wouldn't be extremely acceptable, and he wouldn't be surprised if she did something rash, like call the police.

  
  


The woman smiled, and he realised that he had perhaps just averted some kind of crisis, but the questioning look still filled her eyes. “What about that bike of yours?”

  
  


Steve hesitated. He was not as good at this lying thing as Tony was. “He said he'd bring his truck.”

  
  


The woman nodded, her fingers clutching the bottle that contained the Riesling that he had already tasted. Putting the bottle down, she flicked her wiry hair out of her face with her other hand. “So where abouts in America are you from?”

  
  


Steve smiled, now this was something that he could talk about for hours on end. “Brooklyn, down in the east- New York.”

  
  


“Wow, not much of a wine region, down there, huh?” Her voice raised, clearly these were better waters of conversation than they had been before.

  
  


“It's why I came here.” Steve grinned, he thought about the South Australian man he met in the war, “Guy I met in the war was from here, and he suggested I come down here some time.”

  
  


She seemed confused for a second, and Steve realised that he perhaps should not have said 'war' when he was talking to her, as war was not necessarily a thing that was referred to by people from army duty, however, she seemed to decipher something about it in her mind, when she spat out the words “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

  
  


“Both.” He said, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I've been in the army for something like six years now.”

  
  


“And you thought that you would come to little old Adelaide to spend your spare time?”

  
  


“Well, I wanted to see if there was any other parts of the world that could take my interest. Maybe get away from the hustle and bustle of the New York lifestyle.”

  
  


“Well, Adelaide can do that for you. It's not a very large place, especially considering that you're from New York.”

  
  


Steve looked at the glass of Chardonnay that she had put in front of him. It was yet another white wine. He hadn't had that much Chardonnay in his life, but he had known of a woman in the army who had kept a canteen of it, just to have a little of every now and again to remind her of home. Steve had wondered back then if wine ever went bad, but he realised that it didn't matter in the war. People weren't worrying too much about the quality of what they had, instead favouring to worry about the fact that if they had nothing then they could possibly die.

  
  


He gladly picked up the glass by the stem, and directed it towards his mouth. He let the cool liquid of the alcohol warm his mouth with its strength. It was the best white wine that he had ever tasted. The warmth was the best thing that he had ever felt enveloping over his tongue. The best thing that he had felt seeping through his teeth, to fill the rest of his mouth.

  
  


~*~

  
  


Sydney airport was not the busiest that he had been in, but even for a soldier of his stature, it was still certainly daunting. He couldn't believe that his bosses had sent him there. That they had felt the need to send him to _Australia_ of all places, and told him that they didn't even have the name of his target yet. They told him that he would not know it until he was right in front of him. They told him that he would be going in blind, and that he would not even be allowed to know the guys name, even after the man would be shot dead by the Soldier's hands.

  
  


It was warm in Sydney, which he was not glad for. He preferred the cold over the warmth. He preferred the way that the cold air would just reach under his coat, and that it couldn't even get to his legs. He didn't like having to wear less clothes than his thick coat, with three layers beneath it, and his extra thick militia pants. He preferred being able to cover himself, than be undercovered. Having less clothes on made it more easy to get injured. That was not something that the Soldier wished upon himself.

  
  


He was being stared at. He guessed that they didn't often see a Russian soldier wearing way too much clothing wondering around the halls of Sydney airport. It would be just like the man whom he was sitting next to on the plane. Leaning away, and trying to keep his distance from the Soldier as much as he could. After all, that was all he could do, with tickets being so expensive for someone of his stature, as it seemed. The man wore a ring on his hand. It was clearly a wedding band, but the Soldier only estimated its cost at around $3000. The man had a tan, which specified that he often worked outside, not due to the tan alone, but the fact that his arms were not as dark, which said that he wore a long shirt, which meant that he was clearly not just on holiday and meaning to get a tan.

  
  


The Winter Soldier knew that the man beside him was not in a great spot in his life, so he continued on ignoring the man, even though he wanted to really give the man a thorough shout at. He didn't really like rude people, and what the man was doing was rude, and he should know that. The man was Australian, he knew. He had put his passport away as the Soldier had gotten there. The Soldier wondered if all Australians were this rude.

  
  


But the airport was nice. All he had to do was wait for his stopover flight. Nothing too bad could occur during that time, could it? No violence could progress without a target on his log. However, the Soldier knew more than to expect silence from the crowds. He knew that he was a wanted man, a legend amongst assassins, and he knew better to expect silence, just because that was his plan.

  
  


“Excuse me, sir. Are you looking for something?” A woman approached him. She wore a long red dress, which seemed a strange uniform for someone working in a airport. The Soldier realised that the way that he was scoping the area around him, looking for something off, may seem a little suspicious to the airport worker.

  
  


“No, I'm fine, Ma'am.” The woman grinned, and the Soldier doubled back on what he had just said. He had forgotten the time that he was in. He wasn't back in the fifties. He was not supposed to call women 'ma'am' any more. Apparently, that was considered 'too oldies style,' and the Soldier knew that he was just lucky for his cover not to be blown from something as stupid as calling a woman something that was not common for the time in which he was now living. There was one thing that could have solved this, and that would have been for his keepers not to have put him in cryogenics, and to let him keep up to date with the world around him, instead of skipping ten years at a time.

  
  


~*~

  
  


Walking out the airport, satellite phone in hand, and five thousand Australian dollars in a wad in his pocket, he felt once again in his element. He knew where he could go to get his weapons, because he now knew he he had to kill. He knew where he could go to get his car. He knew that this lone mission would be one of the favourite missions that he could ever accomplish. He was excited for what he was about to do, and he didn't often get excited over one of his marks.

  
  


Mission E0X24-45

Target: Matthew David King

Extra parameters: Julia Rose King, marks wife may be around upon the mission's commencement. Do not harm.

  
  


~*~

  
  


The olives were the sweetest that he had ever tasted, the slight flavour of smoked bell pepper seeping through the flesh of the pale green stone fruit, and the hint of vinegar that had quite obviously been preserving them just touching his tongue in a way that a plain olive would not.

  
  


He'd been in Adelaide trying the wines and other produce for a week now, and although he had early thought that the subtle warmth of wine running over his tongue would not get tiresome, when he had gone to Adelaide, he now realised that it was easy to get bored by something that you once found a treat, when you are getting it all the time. Steve realised that he was going to have to go back to the USA at some point in time- he was still Captain America, after all. That title, however, the freedom that it suggested, it kept himself from being free. The obligation that he had to the American people was something that he could not stop having, and it meant that he had to be in America as much as possible.

  
  


Although he often enjoyed what occurred within the title of his country, he often hated the fact that he was given so much pressure. He didn't so much like that he was given so much responsibility, that he was given the responsibility of being only a role model for the entirety of the United States, and even everywhere else around the world. That responsibility made him want to go somewhere else... just to escape the United States, and get away from the responsibility.

  
  


Sipping at his wine, he was reminded of Jacques Dernier, the Frenchman that was in the Howling Commandos with Steve and Bucky. He remembered how he would complain about how horrible whatever alcohol it was that they were drinking. He remembered how the man would always talk about how there was much better wine in France, and that near to where Dernier lived, they had the nicest Viognier.

  
  


People never really thought about the man behind Captain America. They treated Steve like a symbol. They treated Captain America as though he was not a human, as though he was just there, for them. People didn't realise that he didn't just 'die' for the world, and for all the people in it. He died for his friends, for all the people that he had ever met. No one dies for strangers, not even Captain America.

  
  


People didn't realise that Steve missed everyone from his time. That he not only missed Bucky, but he missed the rest of his commandos. He missed everyone that he had ever met, except maybe the bullies... but he even missed Hodge's facial expression from when he was chosen a little.

  
  


The letter he wrote the night prior to his olive session was supreme proof of this.

  
  


_Dear my Commandos,_

_I cannot believe that you all died on me! I know that I 'died' first, but I came back and you guys were all gone! Why would you do that to a man like me? I hope you all had lives filled with wonder... but that doesn't mean that I don't miss you._

_It's amazing how much you guys were all there. I remember all the amazing times that we had together. It's amazing how much you guys would stand by me and support my crazy endeavour to disembowel as many Nazis as I could get my hands on so that America and the rest of the allied world could be beautiful._

_I can't look at any piece of weaponry without thinking about the things we used to do. I can't look at a piece of weaponry without seeing your smiling faces... don't think of me as a bender for this, but I can just imagine you all around the camp fire, sharing stories of all of your countries. I can imagine everything that you have ever said... I can remember it. It's part of the serum – the enhanced memory, and I remember every little thing about you._

_For people that don't have Doctor Erskine's serum, it's easier to forget about the people that they have lost, or in my case, the people that lost me, but I remember every single detail about you all. I remember so much detail that I have drawn your all with many different mediums in a sketchbook, and that they're all from so many different angles, and they even look like pictures._

_I don't like to claim that I've lost more than all those people out there, but maybe I have. I lost my era. I haven't grown up with this technology like all the people around me. I haven't grown up with stories of the second world war. I lived through it, and now I'm having to learn about all this new technology like it's all been invented overnight. I lost my childhood best friend, Bucky. I lost my one and only love, Bucky. I lost the place in which I had known my parents. I'm not going to be able to go back there now and recognise all the places that my mother used to walk. I'm not going to be able to recognise all the places that Bucky and I used to play. I wont be able to recognise all the places that I used to paint and draw. I have lost so much, and I am stuck in some weird world that doesn't recognise me as a person any more, and I don't recognise it as my home. I feel so out of place._

_I wish that I could see you all again. I wish that I could joke around, and that you could all make fun of me for my time before the serum again... I wish that Bucky could tell you all the stupid stories of me getting into fights, and be able to blush so hard that my skin turns beetroot red before you all. I wish that I had my team. I wish that I had my Commandos._

  
  


_I remember you, watching_

_the camp fire churn, climbing_

_tall snowy slopes, laughing_

_happy, exciting jokes, walking_

_amongst graves, grieving_

_because you are gone, sleeping_

_or lack thereof, hoping_

_that I will remember, living,_

_your memory will forever_

  
  


_Keep Howling, my Commandos,_

_Lots of love,_

_From Steve_

  
  


~*~

  
  


The blonde man across the room looked as though he may choke anyone who looks at him the wrong way. It wasn't often that the Soldier thought these things. He was a _very_ strong assassin. He could do anything that he wanted to, but these man had just caught his attention.

  
  


In the outfit that he had decided to wear as part of his disguise, he stood behind the bar. His long hair flowed over his face, to stop any possible recognition. He had been on a lot of missions, he knew. However, he did not remember any of them. They wiped his memory after almost every assignment.

  
  


The soldier tried to take his attention of the tall, bulky looking blonde man. He couldn't be giving too much attention to someone who clearly wouldn't like it if they saw him looking. He didn't need the attention when he had to kill someone who was probably in the vicinity.

  
  


~*~

  
  


Steve had gotten a call from SHIELD. At this point during in holiday he was glad for the disruption. He didn't mind guarding some strange citizen, if it meant that he could finally take his mind off of everything that he had been thinking about whilst he had bee drinking the copious amounts of alcohol. It kind of reminded him of when Bucky had died ad he had drunken so much, but hadn't felt it in the slightest.

  
  


He felt someone eyeing him, and he was curious at first, but he realised that it was only the bartender, and went back to scoping the area.

  
  


He always tried to make sure that he was on edge. He needed to be on edge if he was going to be able to protect himself. He needed to know that he could protect other people. Sometimes, when he wasn't vigilant, when he wasn't heeding every move of everyone around him, he might miss something. He didn't want to miss anything. Not when people's lives were at stake. If people's lives were at stake, and he did something wrong, then he could be in a lot of trouble. Everyone else could be in a lot of trouble.

  
  


He had been told to look after this man; Matthew David King, who was supposed to be one of the most important people in Australia at that point in time. He was supposed to have the fate of the allied troops overseas in his hands. If he died, then a lot of knowledge died with him, and the troops would have to be pulled out from all their foreign bases, and the allied troops would no longer be able to stand and protect those people who needed it.

  
  


Matthew David King had the technology that would shut down all the allies enemies. It would just shut down all of their technology, it wouldn't kill anybody, but it was still a weapon. It was the perhaps one of the worst weapons that anyone in the world could get their hands on. The technology, that should shut down the opposition's technologies, would perhaps in the long run, kill people, even though it wasn't meant to. It would turn off all the electricity in a certain place deemed appropriate by those controlling the weapon, and therefore it would turn off a lot of things that people rely on to survive.

  
  


But the allied troops overseas were getting butchered in their warfare, and the oppositions were beginning to get advanced technologies that were taking down the allied troops.

  
  


So, by all means, Steve needed to protect this man. No matter how home sick he was feeling. No matter how much he wanted to get his feet back on United States soil.

  
  


Sighing, Steve resigned to getting a drink, knowing that it wouldn't hurt to take his eyes off of King for the smallest amount of time. Besides, King had some other people guarding him. He didn't even really need the super soldier there, so if Steve decided that he really, really, needed a bit of moisture going down his dry mouth, then he should be able to if he wanted.

  
  


A shiver came over him slightly, and he wavered as he walked. Was this disobeying orders? Was he not being the soldier that he was supposed to be? That was what soldiers were, weren't they? Just another cog in the machine. They were supposed to listen to their superiors. They were supposed to obey every order so that the machine appeared perfectly oiled. He hadn't even asked for the drink. King probably would have told him that he could just go... why did he have to gamble with these missions so often?

  
  


It was already done, he decided. He had already began this disobedience. Steve knew that if he were to go back now, he would just appear some kind of coward for succumbing to his internalised dilemma.

  
  


“Excuse me, sir.” Steve approached the bartender. He looked as though he did not expect the man to walk over. Almost as though he didn't quite know what to do. “Do you have any nice white wines?”

  
  


~*~

  
  


There was something about the man in front of him that made him want to just curl into a ball. He knew that he was only supposed to think the pure assassin thoughts that were programmed into him, but the man in front of him just looked so familiar... and if he didn't have hair covering his face, the Soldier was sure that the man would recognise him.

  
  


The Soldier wondered if he should test it out. Sure, he knew that this man was quite obviously the enemy, but the man was also so familiar, like he had been close to the Soldier at some point in time. The Soldier didn't remember having that connection with anyone, but with the man in front of him, he could feel it. He could feel something pulling them towards each other, and he had no clue what it could have been.

  
  


With deep breaths, breaths that would have appeared suspicious if someone was watching him closely, breaths that would have meant someone yelling at him for momentary lack of commitment to his cause if he were currently in USSR headquarters.

  
  


With a chilling shiver running like a current down his spine, the Soldier reached towards his hair and pushed the entire right side, that was hanging over his face carefully so that it was behind his ear.

  
  


Something inside the Soldier broke when he heard a whisper, “Bucky?”

 

He wasn't quite sure what to do in this moment. He wasn't quite sure what he should e doing. He wasn't quite sure what it meant for this man to be stating such a thing to his face. He was not the kind of person that would just stand there and let something like this happen. Normally, he would run away and find a solution that probably involved killing people on the parameters of what he was allowed.

He was the Winter Soldier, he was not someone that could be swayed by the silly notion of human life. He was the Winter Soldier, a Russian, and proud, but sometimes he would wonder.. that child that his bosses didn't care about, did they deserve to die? Who were they? Were they supposed to be treated like they were worthless pawns?

Those children that only stood there, wanting to live, so they did all they could ot protect themselves, those children that his bosses wanted him to teach to fight, would those children still have their innocence if it wasn't for him? If it wasn't for him, would he have seen nine year olds kill each other... because he had. He had seen two of those nine ear olds kill two of those other nine year olds, and that wasn't fair. No nine year olds should have any lack of innocence.

The Soldier didn't like very much of what he was told to do. He understood that many of the things that he did were because the men he killed were bad. They deserved to die in the way that they did. The bosses told the soldier that the people were a threat, that many children would die if he didn't kill that child. He understood that killing a child was one of the worst crimes, but he did it. Hundreds of children would be bombed if he didn't slice that little child's throat.

This man... he made him feel almost... free. This man made him feel as though he was allowed to feel bad abut what he had done. But this man also mad ehim feel like he was unworthy. This man made him feel as though he was not worthy of being around him. He didn't deserve the presence of such a strong willed, good man.

~*~

Steve looked at Bucky with wide eyes. Confusion filled his innards. Confusion filled him, with a kind of awe that confused him even more. Bucky couldn't have survived hat long and still be looking young. That couldn't be a thing that could occur. Bucky didn't have the serum... even if he was alive, he should look over ninety years old by that time.

The dark hair that framed his once best friend's face, had been hiding the man's face. The hair had been a kind of mask, to stop people from knowing who he was. Steve knew now that this was Bucky, however, and he didn't think that he would ever forget that face, that hair, that everything.

"Where have you been?" He decided on. He had to say something, and that was what he settled on.

Bucky swallowed, letting out small breaths and trying to calm himself. "I don't- I don't remember your name, I. You're American?"

The slight Russian accent filled Steve's ears. Bucky had been in Russia that whole time? Steve had been buried beneath a frozen wasteland, and his best friend had been gallivanting around Russia.

Steve let out one of the few words he knew in Russian. "izvinite."

He saw the flicker of recognition behind the other man's eyes. "Steve?"

~*~

"Have you heard of the Winter Soldier, Natasha?"

_"Of course."_ the assassin's voice filled the speaker of the phone. It was on speaker phone. He'd made that agreement with Bucky himself.

"Nu, vot ya." Bucky said, the Russian flowing naturally off his tongue, which scared Steve greatly, but he was grateful for it, because it was one way to prove that Bucky was indeed, the Winter Soldier.

_"Yasha , o, chert voz'mi"_ Natasha said, sounding as gleeful as possible with a Russian accent.

"We’re coming back to the United States. I'm aborting the mission. Tell Fury for me." Steve announced, not giving Natasha another chance to speak and hanging up.

Bucky shivered next to him. Steve could tell that he was scared, but he didn’t know what of. He didn't know what Bucky had been through in the time that he had not seen the man, but no matter what, for Steve, Bucky was always gonna be the bigger kid, that defended him and was his friend, even when he was the little kid. That was who Bucky was, and that was clearly never going to change.

This man, although Steve could see the likeness. Steve could see everything in his best friend in this man, except one. He could see more pain in this man than he used to be able to see in his best friend. Before this, his best friend had pain, more pain than Steve thought was enough to keep someone in check. No, now Bucky had the pain of a hundred lives on his hands. Now, Bucky had more than what was necessary. No man should ever have to kill another.

He watched the soldier shiver, and he wondered what he was re-experiencing in his mind this time.

~*~

Bucky ran down the hallway, feet clattering on old and creaky floorboards, "You can't catch me, Stevie!" Energy rushed up his legs every time a foot slammed into the wooden ground.

Steve's lungs attempted breathe in and contain every small piece of oxygen that they could, pumping it through his blood vessels as fast as humanly possible for his little body. His draw jarred. He stopped his legs in their places, letting the oxygen fill his lungs once again as much as it could. He panted like a dog, his body needed more oxygen. He needed help. It was asthma, he knew. He needed Bucky to notice him. He needed help.

Another little body moved on the ground near him. That little body surrounded the other, "Stevie." He whispered, "Stevie, breathe in." Bucky's hands held Steve's small shoulders, "Deeper, Stevie."

Something inside Bucky's little child heart broke, clattering to the bottom of chest cavity. He hadn't managed to keep his friend safe. He had done this to his friend. He had asked Steve if he wanted to play tag. Now, Steve was having an asthsma attack, and it was all his fault. How could he ever be Steve's friend again.

Bucky felt a hand grab his own, knowing well enough that it was Steve, the only one except babies who had hands that small. Bucky knew that it was Steve telling him that he was okay. "Oh Stevie, let's not play tag ever again, okay?"

~*~

"I remembered. Steve, I'm Bucky." The soldier said, grasping his hands within each other in an attempt to clutch onto himself. "I'm not sure if I want to be Bucky."

Steve sent him an inquisitive look from behind his glass of cola.

"I don't want to lose myself." The soldier gulped. He didn't want to lose everything that he had learned. He knew that he had gone through a lot of pain, and he knew that he had hurt a lot of people and had a lot of blood on his hands, but he didn't want to become Bucky again if it meant that he would lose any intelligence, or general information that he had learned during that period of time. He was supposed to be Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes, but he didn't think that he did want to be that person. he didn't want to lose his mind. He didn't want to lose the pain. The pain was a part of who he was.

Steve contemplated the soldier's words. He'd come to realise that this was most definitely not the Bucky that he had known back in the day, but he had also come to realise that this man still had all the qualities that had made Bucky his best friend. He wanted the best for the man, even though there was that selfish part of him that wanted his friend back. That part of him that wanted the Winter Soldier to step out of the place that it had lodged itself into. He did want his best friend back, but he understood the his best friend's happiness was more important.

~*~

A glow escaped from beneath the door. Curiously, the Soldier opened it, listening carefully before peering around the corner and keeping to clutching the white cracking paint on the door with his left hand and the same cracking pain on the door frame with his right.

"Steve?" the Soldier said, jumping with what looked like glee into the living room that he and Steve shared in Brooklyn. "Are you ready for the battle of your life?"

A tall creature stepped through the door. Its skin appeared thousands of years old, like leather on an old book. Wrinkles covered every inch of the creature's body, filled with dirt and bits that filled the air like dead skin and mould particles. Steve would have been intrigued, if he was not five yards from the creature, and the creature didn't want to rip his face off and tear out his kidneys and intestines before shoving them down his throat like the mad creature he was.

Grabbing his SHIELD, which he always kept within a nice distance wherever they were, he ran out the room, hoping to all hell that Bucky- the Soldier -was following him at a reasonable pace behind him. He didn't want anyone dying today simply because Reed Richards had accidentally made a portal off to Asgard or some other outer space place that Steve didn't understand still.

He was happy for what he was wearing wasn't his skin tight costume this time, and was actually workout clothes. He hated the constricted suit and wished that SHIELD weren't the kind of people that really looked as though they loved to pray on their workers.

Warm air clutched his biceps, as it did his bare feet. The soldier's long hair stuck to his forehead, and his lips looked fuller and redder than usual, like the other man had been biting them. He wondered what an image they would make to an outsider. He wondered how he and the Soldier would look laying next to each other and waiting ever so quietly for a stranger to come past and notice them naked with globed asses sticking out as they cuddled on a mattress. Steve knew that the image they made must have been a nice one.

The Soldier ran back into the room, clutching a pistol in his non-metal hand. Steve hated the fact that the Soldier's weapons were always offensive ones, rather than something like Steve's own SHIELD, but he understood that right in that moment, the Soldier needed something to protect himself, and a gun was better than nothing.

The monster was roaring, and Steve wondered if the neighbours were going to hate them after this. “Don't live next to a superhero,” they'd say, “They'll bring home their work, and you don't want some alien thing comin' into ya house and wreckin' ya life.”

Steve really didn't like aliens, except Thor, of course. However, even Thor had the alien trait about him, which even Steve had a little bit of. They just didn't fit into society in any form. They didn't know about things that were excepted in the current day. Steve almost had a heart attack when he spoke to a woman at a supermarket and she spat at him because he called her a dame. Steve always got confused about everything, basically, and Thor was like that but perhaps worse.

Steve wondered if this monster was not a monster. He wondered if the monster was just a confused alien who had no idea what to do about earth.

He heard a clash, metal upon metal, somewhere outside of the house. The Soldier had already disappeared, but he only noticed the absence when he heard gun shots and wondered why on earth the Soldier hadn't fitted a silencer to his weapon. This was a family neighbourhood. Look what they'd brought upon it.

A thought flashed through his mind, in which he wondered if he would regret fighting barefoot later, but he didn't give it a second thought, running out of the door. He yelled, “Winter!” throwing his head out of the door before his head which could have been a catastrophic move for someone who wasn't as coordinated as the ninety year old super soldier.

The Soldier was standing before the monster with a grin upon his face. Steve could see the evil that the Russians had injected into the mind of his best friend, and was glad that he was fighting on the good side this time.

Allowing the monster to stay still, the Soldier stood in front of it, waving the pistol in case he needed protection.

Steve spoke, realising that nothing would ever work if he just started fighting the creature without knowing what it wanted. “Who are you?” He inquired, grimacing at the tone of his voice, which sounded much too deep to be friendly. He wasn't very good at... talking to people at all. He wished that they could develop another super serum to make that part of him better.

A growl escaped the monster's stomach, and Steve was glad that he was not as close to the monster as the Soldier was. He didn't like... the stench that he could smell all the way from where he was standing. He didn't particularly appreciate the stench that was seemingly seeping out of the monster's crotch, nor the stench that was clinging to the loincloth the monster has wrapped around its waist.

Sniffing the air with utter dismay, Steve allowed himself to walk towards the towering monster, and throw his SHIELD towards the monster's head, trying to stop the monster in its tracks. With all of his might, Steve may have severely hurt someone, but, with the throw that he aimed and controlled carefully, he made sure that he would only knock the monster out, in time for him to call Fury, and tell him the situation.

As well as telling him the situation, he could begin to get the Soldier's record clear. Maybe give him a real name, maybe Yasha, since he seemed content with that.

However, Steve hadn't calculated well enough. His SHIELD hit the monster, but then it veered, he saw it, sliding to the left through the air. The Soldier was poised for something to happen, but he did not have the same serum that Steve did, and he wasn't quite as fast. The SHIELD hit the Soldier's head with a loud bang, which was something that he never wanted to hear again.

~*~

"How's life now treatin' ya?" Bucky said, and Steve noticed almost instantly how his accent had reverted back to Brooklyn.

"Oh, you know, same old. Defeated the red skull... by flying it into the Artic. Lived out most of our friends, of course. Became the most fit person in the world, that is able to apply for a pension." Steve laughed. He would have spoken about how he missed out on going to Bucky's funeral, having died only three days later.

"Turned up in New York city... new New York city, mind you. I swear, what did they do to it with all those screens, and colour! Colour television! It's amazing, Bucky, I swear. Those little telephones... they're amazing. I just, I wanna have them all!" Steve grinned, "Luckily, I also know Tony Stark." Steve pulled the newest StarkPhone out of his pocket, and raised his eyebrows as if to say,  _see?_

"What about you, Buck... Russian? I can't believe I lost you to a group of communists."

"Well, they have good vodka." Bucky joked. His time with the Russians wasn't pleasant, and he didn't want Steve knowing how bad a man he had become. He'd always been bad. He'd never been the kind of man that Steve had been. From the time that he'd made Steve play tag, despite his asthsma, to now, where he was a world renowned assassin, and he had killed people.

Bucky didn't remember much, but Steve had jolted some memories, like the one of him forcing Steve to play tag back when they were little. He still couldn't remember hardly anything about his friend, and that almost killed him on the inside, because he knew that they were supposed to be close, very good friends, but he couldn't find anything about that friendship within him, except remembering that gosh, did Steve used to be small.

Bucky used to feel like if he picked Steve up, he would be able to hold the boy in a couple of fingers. Now, Steve's a man, and Bucky didn't even think that he would be able to lift Steve up even if he doubled his muscle mass.

"Steve... I like, I want-- Can we be friends again?"

~*~

Bucky remembered the soldier. He remembered being reluctant to be Bucky again. He rememered missing that something that he had with Steve, though, whatever it was.

It hadn't been like in the movies. It wasn't simply like a switch. He had remembered things slowly, little pieces. But there had been one memory that had switched everything back, like some kind of default setting. He was a bit of both, but he knew that he was Bucky on the inside. James Buchanan Barnes. It fit him, and he knew it.

“So the Winter Soldier is still in there?” Fury commented, stern, and with the world in his thoughts.

“Yes, sir. I am the Winter Soldier, and I am Bucky Barnes. I am both. He will always be a part of me, and I will always be a part of him. We went through a lot together.” He admitted, looking towards the ground from the chair he was sitting in.

The large SHIELD briefing room that was situated in the triskelion was perhaps the lightest room in the building. For such a large security agency, the SHIELD headquarters looked nothing more than a strange building sporting a dungeon in every room, as well as some heavily armed smart looking men, in their suit and tie uniform. It was definitely not the most comfortable of places.

“But can we trust you?” Fury asked. He wasn't kidding. He knew that Bucky Barnes was a good man, but he also knew that the Winter Soldier was a bad person, and he wasn't sure how that was going to combine. He wasn't sure how the combining of two very strong willed men was going to go with the rest of their body, he wasn't sure how their skills were going to combine. He wasn't sure if he would be able to trust the resulting man, whatever he could call them.

“Sir, with all respect, but I'm always going to be there. He could be a very strong help to the Avengers, and I trust him.” Steve put in. Bucky had told him not to say anything. Bucky had told him that as a soldier, he had to hold himself. He wouldn't look good if Fury was only dealing with Steve to sort it out. Steve shouldn't be doing everything for Bucky. He was his own man. He could do all he wanted.

~*~

 

Steve swallowed the warm-tasting liquid. It fell down his throat, relieving any thoughts that he hadn't been sure about. He couldn't get drunk, but these French wines that he had been tasting were some of the most brilliant things that he had ever had in his mouth.

“What do you think, Bucky?” Steve asked, “Is it fruity enough for your taste buds? Is it strong enough for your Russian experiences?”

“Americantsy,” Bucky chuckled, “Tovarishch, Steve.” He wrapped his metal, and real arms around the taller man. “Ty moy tovarishch.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely artist, az26. You can find their art for the story [ here ](http://az26.livejournal.com/1610.html).


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